recognise the--the face when we took it out, superintendent? No? I did.
It was Dahlia Dallmeyer, the actress, who is supposed to have sailed
for America last week. And the short man with the crescent-shaped scar
is her husband, Philip Storey. Sordid tale and all that. She ruined
him, treated him like dirt, and was unfaithful to him, but it looks as
though he had had the last word in the argument. And now, I imagine,
the Law will have the last word with him. Get busy on the wires,
superintendent, and you might ring up the Paddington people and tell
'em to let me have my bag, before Mr. Thomas Owen tumbles to it that
there's been a slight mistake."
"Well, anyhow," said Mr. Walters, extending a magnanimous hand to the
abashed Mr. Simpkins, "it was a top-hole race--well worth a summons. We
must have a return match one of these days."
* * * * *
Early the following morning a little, insignificant-looking man stepped
aboard the trans-Atlantic liner _Volucria_. At the head of the gangway
two men blundered into him. The younger of the two, who carried a small
bag, was turning to apologise, when a light of recognition flashed
across his face.
"Why, if it isn't Mr. Storey!" he exclaimed loudly. "Where are you off
to? I haven't seen you for an age."
"I'm afraid," said Philip Storey, "I haven't the pleasure----"
"Cut it out," said the other, laughing. "I'd know that scar of yours
anywhere. Going out to the States?"
"Well, yes," said the other, seeing that his acquaintance's boisterous
manner was attracting attention. "I beg your pardon. It's Lord Peter
Wimsey, isn't it? Yes. I'm joining the wife out there."
"And how is she?" enquired Wimsey, steering the way into the bar and
sitting down at a table. "Left last week didn't she? I saw it in the
papers."
"Yes. She's just cabled me to join her. We're--er--taking a holiday
in--er--the lakes. Very pleasant there in summer."
"Cabled you, did she? And so here we are on the same boat. Odd how
things turn out, what? I only got my sailing orders at the last minute.
Chasing criminals--my hobby, you know."
"Oh, really?" Mr. Storey licked his lips.
"Yes. This is Detective-Inspector Parker of Scotland Yard--great pal
of mine. Yes. Very unpleasant matter, annoying and all that. Bag that
ought to have been reposin' peacefully at Paddington Station turns up
at Eaton Socon. No business there, what?"
He smacked the bag on the table so violently that the lock sprang open.
Storey leapt to his feet with a shriek, flinging his arms across the
opening of the bag as though to hide its contents.
"How did you get that?" he screamed. "Eaton Socon? It--I never----"
"It's mine," said Wimsey quietly, as the wretched man sank back,
realising that he had betrayed himself. "Some jewellery of my mother's.
What did you think it was?"
Detective Parker touched his charge gently on the shoulder.
"You needn't answer that," he said. "I arrest you, Philip Storey, for
the murder of your wife. Anything that you say may be used against you."
THE UNPRINCIPLED AFFAIR OF THE PRACTICAL JOKER
The _Zambesi_, they said, was expected to dock at six in the morning.
Mrs. Ruyslaender booked a bedroom at the Magnifical, with despair in
her heart. A bare nine hours and she would be greeting her husband.
After that would begin the sickening period of waiting--it might be
days, it might be weeks, possibly even months--for the inevitable
discovery.
The reception-clerk twirled the register towards her. Mechanically, as
she signed it, she glanced at the preceding entry:
"Lord Peter Wimsey and valet--London--Suite 24."
Mrs. Ruyslaender's heart seemed to stop for a second. Was it possible
that, even now, God had left a loophole? She expected little from
Him--all her life He had shown Himself a sufficiently stern creditor.
It was fantastic to base the frailest hope on this signature of a man
she had never even seen.
Yet the name remained in her mind while she dined in her own room. She
dismissed her maid presently, and sat for a long time looking at her
own haggard reflection in the mirror. Twice she rose and went to the
door--then turned back, calling herself a fool. The third time she
turned the handle quickly and hurried down the corridor, without giving
herself time to think.
A large golden arrow at the corner directed her to Suite 24. It was
11 o'clock, and nobody was within view. Mrs. Ruyslaender gave a sharp
knock on Lord Peter Wimsey's door and stood back, waiting, with the
sort of desperate relief one experiences after hearing a dangerous
letter thump the bottom of the pillar-box. Whatever the adventure, she
was committed to it.
The manservant was of the imperturbable sort. He neither invited nor
rejected, but stood respectfully upon the threshold.
"Lord Peter Wimsey?" murmured Mrs. Ruyslaender.
"Yes, madam."
"Could I speak to him for a moment?"
"His Lordship has just retired, madam. If you will step in, I will
enquire."
Mrs. Ruyslaender followed him into one of those palatial sitting-rooms
which the Magnifical provides for the wealthy pilgrim.
"Will you take a seat, madam?"
The man stepped noiselessly to the bedroom door and passed in, shutting
it behind him. The lock, however, failed to catch, and Mrs. Ruyslaender
caught the conversation.
"Pardon me, my lord, a lady has called. She mentioned no appointment,
so I considered it better to acquaint your lordship."
"Excellent discretion," said a voice. It had a slow, sarcastic
intonation, which brought a painful flush to Mrs. Ruyslaender's cheek.
"I never make appointments. Do I know the lady?"
"No, my lord. But--hem--I know her by sight, my lord. It is Mrs.
Ruyslaender."
"Oh, the diamond-merchant's wife. Well, find out tactfully what it's
all about, and, unless it's urgent, ask her to call to-morrow."
The valet's next remark was inaudible, but the reply was:
"Don't be coarse, Bunter."
The valet returned.
"His lordship desires me to ask you, madam, in what way he can be of
service to you?"
"Will you say to him that I have heard of him in connection with the
Attenbury diamond case, and am anxious to ask his advice."
"Certainly, madam. May I suggest that, as his lordship is greatly
fatigued, he would be better able to assist you after he has slept."
"If to-morrow would have done, I would not have thought of disturbing
him to-night. Tell him, I am aware of the trouble I am giving----"
"Excuse me one moment, madam."
This time the door shut properly. After a short interval Bunter
returned to say, "His lordship will be with you immediately, madam,"
and to place a decanter of wine and a box of Sobranies beside her.
Mrs. Ruyslaender lit a cigarette, but had barely sampled its flavour
when she was aware of a soft step beside her. Looking round, she
perceived a young man, attired in a mauve dressing-gown of great
splendour, from beneath the hem of which peeped coyly a pair of
primrose silk pyjamas.
"You must think it very strange of me, thrusting myself on you at this
hour," she said, with a nervous laugh.
Lord Peter put his head on one side.
"Don't know the answer to that," he said. "If I say, 'Not at all,' it
sounds abandoned. If I say, 'Yes, very,' it's rude. Supposin' we give
it a miss, what? and you tell me what I can do for you."
Mrs. Ruyslaender hesitated. Lord Peter was not what she had expected.
She noted the sleek, straw-coloured hair, brushed flat back from a
rather sloping forehead, the ugly, lean, arched nose, and the faintly
foolish smile, and her heart sank within her.
"I--I'm afraid it's ridiculous of me to suppose you can help me," she
began.
"Always my unfortunate appearance," moaned Lord Peter, with such
alarming acumen as to double her discomfort. "Would it invite
confidence more, d'you suppose, if I dyed my hair black an' grew a
Newgate fringe? It's very tryin', you can't think, always to look as if
one's name was Algy."
"I only meant," said Mrs. Ruyslaender, "that I don't think _anybody_
could possibly help. But I saw your name in the hotel book, and it
seemed just a chance."
Lord Peter filled the glasses and sat down.
"Carry on," he said cheerfully; "it sounds interestin'."
Mrs. Ruyslaender took the plunge.
"My husband," she explained, "is Henry Ruyslaender, the diamond
merchant. We came over from Kimberley ten years ago, and settled in
England. He spends several months in Africa every year on business, and
I am expecting him back on the _Zambesi_ to-morrow morning. Now, this
is the trouble. Last year he gave me a magnificent diamond necklace of
a hundred and fifteen stones----"
"The Light of Africa--I know," said Wimsey.
She looked a little surprised, but assented. "The necklace has been
stolen from me, and I can't hope to conceal the loss from him. No
duplicate would deceive him for an instant."
She paused, and Lord Peter prompted gently:
"You have come to me, I presume, because it is not to be a police
matter. Will you tell me quite frankly why?"
"The police would be useless. I know who took it."
"Yes?"
"There is a man we both know slightly--a man called Paul Melville."
Lord Peter's eyes narrowed. "M'm, yes, I fancy I've seen him about
the clubs. New Army, but transferred himself into the Regulars. Dark.
Showy. Bit of an ampelopsis, what?"
"Ampelopsis?"
"Surburban plant that climbs by suction. _You_ know--first year, tender
little shoots--second year, fine show--next year, all over the shop.
Now tell me I am rude."
Mrs. Ruyslaender giggled. "Now you mention it, he is _exactly_ like
an ampelopsis. What a relief to be able to think of him as that....
Well, he is some sort of distant relation of my husband's. He called
one evening when I was alone. We talked about jewels, and I brought
down my jewel-box and showed him the Light of Africa. He knows a good
deal about stones. I was in and out of the room two or three times,
but didn't think to lock up the box. After he left, I was putting the
things away, and I opened the jeweller's case the diamonds were in--and
they had gone!"
"H'm--pretty bare-faced. Look here, Mrs. Ruyslaender, you agree he's an
ampelopsis, but you won't call in the police. Honestly, now--forgive
me; you're askin' my advice, you know--is he worth botherin' about?"
"It's not that," said the woman, in a low tone. "Oh, no! But he took
something else as well. He took--a portrait--a small painting set with
diamonds."
"Oh!"
"Yes. It was in a secret drawer in the jewel-box. I can't imagine how
he knew it was there, but the box was an old casket, belonging to my
husband's family, and I fancy he must have known about the drawer
and--well, thought that investigation might prove profitable. Anyway,
the evening the diamonds went the portrait went too, and he knows I
daren't try to get the necklace back because they'd both be found
together."
"Was there something more than just the portrait, then? A portrait in
itself isn't necessarily hopeless of explanation. It was given you to
take care of, say."
"The names were on it--and--and an inscription which nothing, _nothing_
could ever explain away. A--a passage from Petronius."
"Oh, dear!" said Lord Peter, "dear me, yes. Rather a lively author."
"I was married very young," said Mrs. Ruyslaender, "and my husband and
I have never got on well. Then one year, when he was in Africa, it all
happened. We were wonderful--and shameless. It came to an end. I was
bitter. I wish I had not been. He left me, you see, and I couldn't
forgive it. I prayed day and night for revenge. Only now--I don't want
it to be through me!"
"Wait a moment," said Wimsey, "you mean that, if the diamonds are found
and the portrait is found too, all this story is bound to come out."
"My husband would get a divorce. He would never forgive me--or him. It
is not so much that I mind paying the price myself, but----"
She clenched her hands.
"I have cursed him again and again, and the clever girl who married
him. She played her cards so well. This would ruin them both."
"But if _you_ were the instrument of vengeance," said Wimsey gently,
"you would hate yourself. And it would be terrible to you because he
would hate you. A woman like you couldn't stoop to get your own back. I
see that. If God makes a thunderbolt, how awful and satisfying--if you
help to make a beastly row, what a rotten business it would be."
"You seem to understand," said Mrs. Ruyslaender. "How unusual."
"I understand perfectly. Though let me tell you," said Wimsey, with
a wry little twist of the lips, "that it's sheer foolishness for a
woman to have a sense of honour in such matters. It only gives her
excruciating pain, and nobody expects it, anyway. Look here, don't
let's get all worked up. You certainly shan't have your vengeance
thrust upon you by an ampelopsis. Why should you? Nasty fellow. We'll
have him up--root, branch, and little suckers. Don't worry. Let's see.
My business here will only take a day. Then I've got to get to know
Melville--say a week. Then I've got to get the doings--say another
week, provided he hasn't sold them yet, which isn't likely. Can you
hold your husband off 'em for a fortnight, d'you think?"
"Oh, yes. I'll say they're in the country, or being cleaned, or
something. But do you really think you can----?"
"I'll have a jolly good try, anyhow, Mrs. Ruyslaender. Is the fellow
hard up, to start stealing diamonds?"
"I fancy he has got into debt over horses lately. And possibly poker."
"Oh! Poker player, is he? That makes an excellent excuse for gettin' to
know him. Well, cheer up--we'll get the goods, even if we have to buy
'em. But we won't, if we can help it. Bunter!"
"My lord?" The valet appeared from the inner room.
"Just go an' give the 'All Clear,' will you?"
Mr. Bunter accordingly stepped into the passage, and, having seen an
old gentleman safely away to the bathroom and a young lady in a pink
kimono pop her head out of an adjacent door and hurriedly pop it back
on beholding him, blew his nose with a loud, trumpeting sound.
"Good night," said Mrs. Ruyslaender, "and thank you."
She slipped back to her room unobserved.
* * * * *
"Whatever has induced you, my dear boy," said Colonel Marchbanks, "to
take up with that very objectionable fellow Melville?"
"Diamonds," said Lord Peter. "Do you find him so, really?"
"Perfectly dreadful man," said the Hon. Frederick Arbuthnot. "Hearts.
What did you want to go and get him a room here for? This used to be a
quite decent club."
"Two clubs?" said Sir Impey Biggs, who had been ordering a whisky, and
had only caught the last word.
"No, no, one heart."
"I beg your pardon. Well, partner, how about spades? Perfectly good
suit."
"Pass," said the Colonel. "I don't know what the Army's coming to
nowadays."
"No trumps," said Wimsey. "It's all right, children. Trust your Uncle
Pete. Come on, Freddy, how many of those hearts are you going to shout
for?"
"None, the Colonel havin' let me down so 'orrid," said the Hon. Freddy.
"Cautious blighter. All content? Righty-ho! Bring out your dead,
partner. Oh, very pretty indeed. We'll make it a slam this time. I'm
rather glad to hear that expression of opinion from you, Colonel,
because I particularly want you and Biggy to hang on this evening and
take a hand with Melville and me."
"What happens to me?" enquired the Hon. Freddy.
"You have an engagement and go home early, dear old thing. I've
specially invited friend Melville to meet the redoubtable Colonel
Marchbanks and our greatest criminal lawyer. Which hand am I supposed
to be playin' this from? Oh, yes. Come on, Colonel--you've got to hike
that old king out some time, why not now?"
"It's a plot," said Mr. Arbuthnot, with an exaggerated expression of
mystery. "Carry on, don't mind me."
"I take it you have your own reasons for cultivating the man," said Sir
Impey.
"The rest are mine, I fancy. Well, yes, I have. You and the Colonel
would really do me a favour by letting Melville cut in to-night."
"If you wish it," growled the Colonel, "but I hope the impudent young
beggar won't presume on the acquaintance."
"I'll see to that," said his lordship. "Your cards, Freddy. Who had
the ace of hearts? Oh! I had it myself, of course. Our honours....
Hullo! Evenin', Melville."
The ampelopsis was rather a good-looking creature in his own way. Tall
and bronzed, with a fine row of very persuasive teeth. He greeted
Wimsey and Arbuthnot heartily, the Colonel with a shade too much
familiarity, and expressed himself delighted to be introduced to Sir
Impey Biggs.
"You're just in time to hold Freddy's hand," said Wimsey; "he's got a
date. Not his little paddy-paw, I don't mean--but the dam' rotten hand
he generally gets dealt him. Joke."
"Oh, well," said the obedient Freddy, rising, "I s'pose I'd better make
a noise like a hoop and roll away. Night, night, everybody."
Melville took his place, and the game continued with varying fortunes
for two hours, at the end of which time Colonel Marchbanks, who had
suffered much under his partner's eloquent theory of the game, was
beginning to wilt visibly.
Wimsey yawned.
"Gettin' a bit bored, Colonel? Wish they'd invent somethin' to liven
this game up a bit."
"Oh, Bridge is a one-horse show, anyway," said Melville. "Why not have
a little flutter at poker, Colonel? Do you all the good in the world.
What d'you say, Biggs?"
Sir Impey turned on Wimsey a thoughtful eye, accustomed to the
sizing-up of witnesses. Then he replied:
"I'm quite willing, if the others are."
"Damn good idea," said Lord Peter. "Come now, Colonel, be a sport.
You'll find the chips in that drawer, I think. I always lose money at
poker, but what's the odds so long as you're happy. Let's have a new
pack."
"Any limit?"
"What do _you_ say, Colonel?"
The Colonel proposed a twenty-shilling limit. Melville, with a grimace,
amended this to one-tenth of the pool. The amendment was carried and
the cards cut, the deal falling to the Colonel.
Contrary to his own prophecy, Wimsey began by winning considerably, and
grew so garrulously imbecile in the process that even the experienced
Melville began to wonder whether this indescribable fatuity was the
cloak of ignorance or the mask of the hardened poker-player. Soon,
however, he was reassured. The luck came over to his side, and he found
himself winning hands down, steadily from Sir Impey and the Colonel,
who played cautiously and took little risk--heavily from Wimsey, who
appeared reckless and slightly drunk, and was staking foolishly on
quite impossible cards.
"I never knew such luck as yours, Melville," said Sir Impey, when that
young man had scooped in the proceeds from a handsome straight-flush.
"My turn to-night, yours to-morrow," said Melville, pushing the cards
across to Biggs, whose deal it was.
Colonel Marchbanks required one card. Wimsey laughed vacantly and
demanded an entirely fresh hand; Biggs asked for three; and Melville,
after a pause for consideration, took one.
It seemed as though everybody had something respectable this
time--though Wimsey was not to be depended upon, frequently going the
limit upon a pair of jacks in order, as he expressed it, to keep the
pot a-boiling. He became peculiarly obstinate now, throwing his chips
in with a flushed face, in spite of Melville's confident air.
The Colonel got out, and after a short time Biggs followed his example.
Melville held on till the pool mounted to something under a hundred
pounds, when Wimsey suddenly turned restive and demanded to see him.
"Four kings," said Melville.
"Blast you!" said Lord Peter, laying down four queens. "No holdin' this
feller to-night, is there? Here, take the ruddy cards, Melville, and
give somebody else a look in, will you."
He shuffled them as he spoke, and handed them over. Melville dealt,
satisfied the demands of the other three players, and was in the act
of taking three new cards for himself, when Wimsey gave a sudden
exclamation, and shot a swift hand across the table.
"Hullo! Melville," he said, in a chill tone which bore no resemblance
to his ordinary speech, "what exactly does this mean?"
He lifted Melville's left arm clear of the table and, with a sharp
gesture, shook it. From the sleeve something fluttered to the table and
glided away to the floor. Colonel Marchbanks picked it up, and in a
dreadful silence laid the joker on the table.
"Good God!" said Sir Impey.
"You young blackguard!" gasped the Colonel, recovering speech.
"What the hell do you mean by this?" gasped Melville, with a face like
chalk. "How dare you! This is a trick--a plant----" A horrible fury
gripped him. "You dare to say that I have been cheating. You liar! You
filthy sharper. You put it there. I tell you, gentlemen," he cried,
looking desperately round the table, "he must have put it there."
"Come, come," said Colonel Marchbanks, "no good carryin' on that way,
Melville. Dear me, no good at all. Only makes matters worse. We all saw
it, you know. Dear, dear, I don't know what the Army's coming to."
"Do you mean you believe it?" shrieked Melville. "For God's sake,
Wimsey, is this a joke or what? Biggs--you've got a head on your
shoulders--are you going to believe this half-drunk fool and this
doddering old idiot who ought to be in his grave?"
"That language won't do you any good, Melville," said Sir Impey. "I'm
afraid we all saw it clearly enough."
"I've been suspectin' this some time, y'know," said Wimsey. "That's
why I asked you two to stay to-night. We don't want to make a public
row, but----"
"Gentlemen," said Melville more soberly, "I swear to you that I am
absolutely innocent of this ghastly thing. Can't you believe me?"
"I can believe the evidence of my own eyes, sir," said the Colonel,
with some heat.
"For the good of the club," said Wimsey, "this couldn't go on,
but--also for the good of the club--I think we should all prefer the
matter to be quietly arranged. In the face of what Sir Impey and the
Colonel can witness, Melville, I'm afraid your protestations are not
likely to be credited."
Melville looked from the soldier's face to that of the great criminal
lawyer.
"I don't know what your game is," he said sullenly to Wimsey, "but I
can see you've laid a trap and pulled it off all right."
"I think, gentlemen," said Wimsey, "that, if I might have a word in
private with Melville in his own room, I could get the thing settled
satisfactorily, without undue fuss."
"He'll have to resign his commission," growled the Colonel.
"I'll put it to him in that light," said Peter. "May we go to your room
for a minute, Melville?"
With a lowering brow, the young soldier led the way. Once alone with
Wimsey, he turned furiously on him.
"What do you want? What do you mean by making this monstrous charge?
I'll take action for libel!"
"Do," said Wimsey coolly, "if you think anybody is likely to believe
your story."
He lit a cigarette, and smiled lazily at the angry young man.
"Well, what's the meaning of it, anyway?"
"The meaning," said Wimsey, "is simply that you, an officer and a
member of this club, have been caught red-handed cheating at cards
while playing for money, the witnesses being Sir Impey Biggs, Colonel
Marchbanks, and myself. Now, I suggest to you, Captain Melville, that
your best plan is to let me take charge of Mrs. Ruyslaender's diamond
necklace and portrait, and then just to trickle away quiet-like from
these halls of dazzlin' light--without any questions asked."
Melville leapt to his feet.
"My God!" he cried. "I can see it now. It's blackmail."
"You may certainly call it blackmail, and theft too," said Lord Peter,
with a shrug. "But why use ugly names? I hold five aces, you see.
Better chuck in your hand."
"Suppose I say I never heard of the diamonds?"
"It's a bit late now, isn't it?" said Wimsey affably. "But, in that
case, I'm beastly sorry and all that, of course, but we shall have to
make to-night's business public."
"Damn you!" muttered Melville, "you sneering devil."
He showed all his white teeth, half springing, with crouched shoulders.
Wimsey waited quietly, his hands in his pockets.
The rush did not come. With a furious gesture, Melville pulled out his
keys and unlocked his dressing-case.
"Take them," he growled, flinging a small parcel on the table; "you've
got me. Take 'em and go to hell."
"Eventually--why not now?" murmured his lordship. "Thanks frightfully.
Man of peace myself, you know--hate unpleasantness and all that." He
scrutinised his booty carefully, running the stones expertly between
his fingers. Over the portrait he pursed up his lips. "Yes," he
murmured, "that _would_ have made a row." He replaced the wrapping and
slipped the parcel into his pocket.
"Well, good night, Melville--and thanks for a pleasant game."
* * * * *